Funyons & Funnel Cake Mix 11
by Pamala
Summary: Jesse Pinkman and Stephen Holder, of the  The Killing, spend a little time at the laser tag match the night before Jesse goes to Gayle and Holder heads to Seattle.


Title: "Funyons and Funnel Cake Mix" 1/1

Breaking Bad / The Killing crossover

Characters: Jesse Pinkman & Agent Stephen Holder

Category: Ficlet

Rating: PG-13 for foul language

Disclaimer: I know they're not mine. I'm old and tired so, PTB, please don't slap me around for playing with your toys.

Summary: The night before Jesse's called to deal with Gayle and Holder report to Homicide back in Seattle Jesse and Holder spend a little quality time together at the laser tag maze.

Authors notes: If this relationship seems out of the blue know that, like the first line of this fic here, I intend to put the two together more in the future explaining slowly how Holder comes to be Jesses less than official AA sponsor. Many thanks for beta to Hungryhippo_11

How I hooked up with fucked up little mini-me is a story for another night.

Tonight's all about fear, Funyons and big-ass bags of funnel cake mix.

Lucky for him tonight was the night! Token amount of time clean reached and corporate rehab pity job placement set, I'd have been back in Seattle chained to my crappy new homicide desk if the kid called twenty four hours later.

Again, lucky the call came tonight. Giving both myself and mini-me over to all that higher power shit I suppose I was meant to be near when he called.

Roaming through the pitch black tag maze, careful not to break my neck or startle him into doing God knows what, I slip around the corner to where he's at. I find him sitting silent looking up to me slow, not shocked in the least to see me there standing over him.

"Yo! I don't know how the fuck you got in here, but you better be damn sure no-one saw. If you've been followed Holder, I'm a dead man. Simple as that, jackass."

Looking down at him crumpled against the wall, knowing he's been that way for a good long while by the empty Funyon bags on the floor all around, clearly scared to fucking death no matter how tough he acts, my brain silently shouts the same shit it does every time I get near the kid.

_*No one followed me...no one is gonna get the chance to follow me dumbass. I'm a fucking cop, Jesse. Narc turned junkie...turned back to cop through the magic of rehab. Junkie and Cop! That's a hell of a combo little man! Help you not hurt you...your ticket out you dumb little shit*_

Instead I default to action and words fitting our current roles.

"You got 30 seconds to give me the pipe and every scrap you got on you! Now! Or I'll go out, find this someone you're afraid of so they can follow me back and kill you speedy, rather than nice and slow, the way the pipe does it."

While he acts furious at the site of my return, it's nothing but act seeing how he didn't lift a finger to stop me as I took the shit and stormed out of the room.

"Flushed it?"

"You know that I did. Flushed the fucking pipe too, bro. Slipped it into one of those Funyon bags you got all over, crushed it to dust under my heel and flushed the glass down with the crystal."

"Predictable and dickish. NICE, Holder! What's with the funnel cake?"

The little shit doesn't bother to jump up and help, watching my old ass struggle with three 25 lb bags of flower. Glaring over at him in disgusted, I toss a single bag down from under one arm, missing the stubborn little fuck's miserable head by mere inches.

"Technically, its funnel cake MIX, but we'll just call that close enough considering the limited number of brain cells you still got firing."

Piling the last two bags against the wall behind me, sliding down to take a seat next to him, I look him dead in the eye to make certain he sees I'm not fucking around, patting the third bag firmly with my palm, driving home every word from my mouth.

"If you don't get some sleep, Jesse, you're gonna get sloppy. Tell me what's happening or don't, but know if you don't get your head together they will get you."

Easing his head down slowly, too tired to fight, I watch him rise up one last time, mumbling, "I can't fucking sleep... they'll..."

Choosing to show my hand just a bit this one time I lift my hoodie exposing the department-issued police revolver tucked in waist of my jeans.

"I got a long ass flight back to Seattle after lunch tomorrow afternoon. You sleep now, I keep watch and I'll catch up on sleep on the flight tomorrow


End file.
